


Cuckoo's Child

by AnonymousVow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Cuckolding, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, nobility au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousVow/pseuds/AnonymousVow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Francis doesn't know about his wife, Lady Alice, and his man-servant, Gilbert, being lovers. They're not about to enlighten him, especially not with a baby on the way. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poor Fool

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from kinkmeme. Prompt: _"Lady England is married to a character of author's choice, a noblewoman with a dirty secret. She's been fucking one of the household servants for months now._
> 
>  
> 
> _Gilbert is that servant who really enjoys getting to debauch his masters wife and has a risky pride in the matter._
> 
>  
> 
> _She's in the later stages of pregnancy, not sure who is the father and horny._

There's a song in one of those new operas that's been in Gilbert's mind lately. He rather likes it. He'd heard it standing attendance behind Lady Alice's seat at the opera, a tray with champagne flutes and dainty sweets held ready for his lady's refreshment. Lord Francis had his own man-servant waiting, but his tray had heavier things - wine, meatpies, oysters.   
  
Gilbert was in a good mood that night. He'd seen Roderich, his stuck-up cousin who was governor to young Matthew, grinding his teeth with jealous fury that Gilbert, and not Roderich, would be watching the famous opera that had all of the kingdom a-flutter. He'd been able to sneak a couple of those meatpies and a whole goblet of wine off Francis's tray.

And, best of all, he'd fucked Alice during intermission, seated in Francis's own chair while Alice bounced up and down on his cock, moaning like a whore. She'd left her ridiculously lavish dress on, and the multiple-layered skirt rustled like leaves in an autumn wind as she rode him, hiding the sight of his cock plunging again and again into her fiery, velvety core. That annoyed him slightly, but the actual sensations and the fact that she had pulled the top down, leaving her breasts bare and magnificently pushed up by the fabric below, more than made made up for it. He had suckled on her breasts as he began to thrust upwards, the new stimulation causing her to squeal. It took only a few more minutes before they both reached their climax, Alice a little before Gilbert.   
  
By the time Francis returned, full of light and airy stories about how he had brilliantly dazzled various acquaintances with his wit and humor, there was no sign Alice and Gilbert had just spent the last fifteen minutes fornicating like animals. Alice had been seated decorously, reading the programme; Gilbert was a soldier-still shadow bearing a tray. Francis took not the slightest notice of Gilbert, used all his life to thinking servants as part of the background, as ubiquitous and dumb as furniture.   
  
But as the lights dimmed and the music swelled, Gilbert smiled as he thought of his seed filling Alice's womanhood, how even now she must feel its thick stickyness in between her legs. They'd carefully cleaned themselves up after their tryst, but Alice had deliberately - making sure Gilbert was watching - drawn her silken underwear back on without removing any of Gilbert's spend in her, choosing to spend the rest of the night that way.   
  
And then the soprano had launched into a song that made Gilbert's smile grow and almost change into a laugh.   
  
He hums it to himself now as he chopped wood for Lady Alice's fire, the words in his mind as he hums.   
  
 _"They say that this youth_  
 _has set my Lady's_  
 _heart aflame!_  
  
 _His Lordship, sure,_  
 _would die of shock!_  
 _His Lordship is_  
 _a laughingstock!_ "  
  
Gilbert pauses to laugh before swinging the axe down again and resuming the song.  
  
 _"Poor fool, he doesn't know!_  
 _Hohohohohohohohoho!_  
 _If he knew the truth..."_  
  
There are enough logs now - he heads back inside the castle. 

 

***

 

Alice's biggest secret is not her affair with Gilbert. Her biggest secret is that she is a witch - a powerful one, with deep and dark wisdom and ancient witchblood in her veins.   
  
None of her parents, nor her brothers, had possessed that forbidden talent. Only Alice does. Her grandmother had had some of it, though - enough to recognize the burgeoning power in her youngest grandchild. The old lady is dour and imperious, but she respects and knows power. She gives little Alice a small key, tarnished silver with a strange rune carved on it, and tells her nothing more.

 

Alice uses this key to unlock a small, hidden door in the Kirkland castle, and she is smart enough to never even mention the room, the key, or the things she finds inside the room to anyone - not even her grandmother.

 

By the time her grandmother dies, Alice knows enough for a subtle fire spell during the funereal rites. For a moment, after everyone has gone back to the bright-lit comfort of the castle and her grandmother is nothing more but floating ashes in the night wind, the flames of her funeral pyre burn a bright, unnatural green color, and Alice can imagine the old lady's unspoken pride flittering across her veins.  
  
It's because of this secret that Alice allows herself another - a secret lover, Gilbert, with his strange eyes and silver hair and wolfish smile. He's a servant of her husband's household, and apparently had been a friend to Francis in youth - a friendship that, of course, could not be maintained as they grew and the chasm of their differing social stations had torn them apart.   
  
Alice and Gilbert had lusted for each other as soon as their eyes had met - knowing the other lusted for them too. It had been lightning, that first shared glance. But Francis had been very attentive at the beginning of the marriage- not out of any real regard for his new wife, although he certainly found her easy on the eyes - but because he desperately need an heir. His cousins had many sons of their own and his father was beginning to make noises.   
  
But after Alice swelled with child, he'd gradually began to pay less attention. And after he was safely possessed of a son and heir, Matthew, he felt safe and secure in resuming his old, footloose life. His cousins could gnaw their beards in envy. His father was satisfied. His wife, who had fulfilled her duty, could stay in the castle.  
  
With her newborn in the nanny's care and her husband amusing himself in the capital, Alice finally found herself with the freedom to claim what she wanted. No one suspected her - a woman who had so recently given birth could not possibly lay with a man willingly. But Alice had healing potions and spells.   
  
So she called Gilbert in, and she shuddered in delight, remembering that first night. They'd been like animals, wild and wanton, and it had been glorious.   
  
Of course, she'd first burned a hex into Gilbert's tongue so that he would die before he ever spoke a word about her witchery or their trysts. With that out of the way, she'd been free to enjoy his body.   
  
***  
  
Honestly, Gilbert didn't give a flying toss about the hex. Yes, it had hurt like hell when she'd burned it onto his tongue, but the sex after had been worth it. It had been worth a lot of things. No one could see the hex anymore, although sometimes he could feel his mouth burn.   
  
But the sex was awesome, and so were the secret privileges he now enjoyed aside from the sex - he ate delicacies intended only for the palates of the nobles, had as much alcohol as he wanted - fine vintages too, well-aged and strong - and slept half the time in silken sheets. After they coupled, Gilbert would swagger around the master rooms in Francis's silk robe, and wipe his sweat and cum and blood (Alice had sharp nails and strong hands) off his body with Francis's towels. He had a beautiful little dagger hidden in his boot now, made of rare metals and the pommel-stone a single great ruby - red as his eyes, Alice had purred. Francis had never noticed the loss of it. 

 

There were other things he'd taken from the rooms, and now a small treasure-trove resided in a lockbox in his mattress. Alice laughed whenever she saw him cleverly secreting the objects away on his person, and so far he'd been lucky and smart enough to never take anything she objected to. She'd even cast a minor locking enchantment on his lockbox.   
  
But best of all, Gilbert gloated, the best trick would be when his son inherited the life of a lord.  
  
  
***   
  
He was sure the child now swelling Alice's belly was his, even though he knew Francis had laid with her as well in the appropriate time-frame. Alice would have aborted the child if she could not plausibly claim it as her lord's. Still, Gilbert was certain-sure that his seed would triumph over Francis's.   
  
Already, he could see the differences. Alice pregnant with Matthew had been much the same as she was now, just rounder and tiring a little more easily. Matthew had been a remarkably easy pregnancy, and sometimes Alice had confessed she forgot he was there at all, so quiet was his presence in her. She had not become sick, nor did she crave foods any stranger than maple syrup or oatcakes. His kicks had never become more than fluttering sensations, few in a day and irregular, he had overheard Alice telling the healer.   
  
Now, however, Alice's pregnancy was much more obvious. At seven months she was already bigger than she had ever been with Matthew, her belly round and swollen. She swung wildly between extremes of mood, and the castle learned to walk careful around her, and to come running if she expressed a craving. Lately she had been wanting scones, but insisting they be heated up first. And by that she meant burnt to a crisp. She vomited regularly in the morning, like nausea clockwork, and Gilbert had actually seen an outline of a tiny baby foot pushing against the skin of her belly when his son had begun to kick.   
  
Gilbert grinned, and the grin got wider as he noticed Alice looking down at him from her tower-window. His unborn son was awesome. Not yet born and already giving his dad gifts - his being in Alice's stomach had made it so the woman was almost constantly horny, these past few weeks. He whistled as he began to climb the stairs towards her bedroom.


	2. By Any Other Name

"Gebhard," Gilbert mused aloud, trailing one hand idly over Alice's left breast from where he lay molded against the curve of her back. He squeezed the soft flesh, enjoying how they were already heavy with first-milk - a little of the thick, yellow stuff seeping from her darkened nipples as he squeezed them. "Gottfried. Gottlieb. Günther. Gregor, Gustaf, Golo, Georg..."  
  
"Over my dead body," Alice said, her voice languid from the aftermath of their vigorous and lengthy lovemaking, but every syllable clear and enunciated to show her intent. "What hideous names. And why do they all begin with G?"  
  
"'Cos you won't let me name him Gilbert The Second," her lover sulked.  
  
"Yes, because I'm not stupid," Alice replied, sighing a little as his hands molded her breasts just the way she liked. Her breasts had grown increasingly sensitive as her pregnancy progressed, and she found herself appreciating Gilbert's (and Francis's, when he was around) fascination with her chest more than ever before. "How on earth would I explain that to Francis?"  
  
"Say that you hope the kid one day becomes as awesome as me, and so you named him after this pinnacle of manliness in order to encourage that," Gilbert suggested.  
  
Alice only laughed, low in her throat. The laughs trailed off in a soft moan as she felt Gilbert's cock - still buried inside her from their last liaison - twitch and begin to harden. She gave a quiet coo of delight and shifted her legs, spreading them wider in wordless encouragement. Gilbert's position from behind her, spooned together, translated into a shallower penetration than they were used to, but she found herself enjoying the slow climb to ecstasy.  
  
"Mmh..." Gilbert groaned, as he hooked Alice's leg and drew it over his hip, driving more deeply into Alice's addictive heat. "How about Hans, then? Ulf? Waldemar? Volker?" He accompanied each suggestion with a long, slow thrust.  
  
"No, no, nnnnno..." Alice moaned throatily in reply to each suggestion.   
  
"Harald? Dieter? Ulrich? Peter? Hartmut? Klaus? Wolfgang? Jens...."  
  
"No, no, no," Alice chanted, hardly registering what he was saying anymore. "Nnnn...oh!" She cried out as she came to orgasm. Gilbert paused to savor the feeling of her rippling around his engorged manhood, enjoy her breathless cries and the blissful expression on her face.  
  
Alice shuddered in pleasure. Her body craved sex, wanted it so much now. She was so sensitive, coming to multiple orgasms before her partners had one and wanting more all the time. She would wear Gilbert out, bathe, and go into Francis's rooms and then wear out her husband all in one night. Sometimes she resented it, hated this carnal weakness her body and pregnancy forced on her - but most of the time she simply enjoyed it as much as she could, and played on it to keep her lovers bound to her.   
  
Gilbert resumed the slow, purposeful thrusts, and Alice cooed his name in pleased tones. "Oh yes, yes, like that, Gilbert, yes..." She closed her eyes, colors bursting against the darkness as Gilbert's cock filled her just right, over and over again.   
  
"Ernst. Friedrich - Fritz!" Gilbert cried out, his voice breaking as Alice deliberately squeezed around him. "A...Augustus..."  
  
"It sounds like you're thinking of a whole parade of other men while you're fucking me. I didn't know you were interested in "the love of those like you"," Alice said mockingly.   
  
Gilbert only grinned down at her. "Well, you didn't ask," he said, and winked.   
  
Alice looked surprised for a moment, but it turned into an answering grin and a spark of curious interest in her eyes. "Do tell."  
  
"Later," Gilbert promised, backing it up with a hard thrust. Alice moaned in appreciation.  
  
"I'm - I'm not naming my son after any of your old lovers," she gasped, moving her hips in sync with his.   
  
"So if it's not an old lover...."   
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Well, Francis is an old lover," Gilbert smirked, "So you can't name the kid that."  
  
Alice only laughed. "Well, well! We should compare - mm - notes." 

Gilbert's smile turned a little hard for a moment, before it eased into his normal wolfish expression. He suddenly pulled out of her completely and stopped moving, chuckling as Alice whined in frustration and tried to move. His hands on her hips stopped her.

  
"What the fuck, Gilbert!" she cursed.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah," Gilbert warned, enjoying his dominance over her, even if it was momentary and rare. "Let's decide on a name so it's all cleared away before we get down to serious fucking."   
  
"Fine! Fine!" Alice growled in frustrated lust, desperate for the orgasm she'd been so close to. "P-Peter. We'll call him Peter! I promise! Now fuck me!"  
  
Gilbert gladly slipped back inside her, a long smooth glide that had her whimpering in delight. "O-oh! Gilbert! Yes, fuck me! Fuck me!" she mewled, pleasure undoing her usual control. "Fuuuuuck me! So good, fuck me so good, Gilberrrt..."  
  
Gilbert, as promised, settled down for a proper fucking, ramming into her faster and harder with each thrust. She squealed as she orgasmed again, thrashing in his arms and moaning as she felt his seed spurt inside her.   
  
Later, of course, she'd punish him for that little stunt, but she couldn't deny that she enjoyed it when he sometimes took charge. It may have been that she enjoyed punishing him, too.   
  
***  
  
In any case, it didn't matter what she'd promised: when the child was born, one bright summer day, she named him Alfred - Alfred after herself, Alice - and both Francis and Gilbert had to be content with that. 


	3. Cat in the Cradle

They said baby Alfred looked much like his older brother, Matthew - which he did. He had golden-blond hair and blue eyes, like Matthew - and like Francis. So they congratulated Francis on a second son, a spare for his heir, and one so like Francis too, how very nice! Francis's father, the old Duke, was quite pleased, and sent presents as grand as the ones that he'd sent for the birth of firstborn Matthew.   
  
Although Alice had named the baby Alfred, using her own name-syllables and an ancient name of her own house, she had let his second name be for her husband. Alfred Francis Bonnefoy, they intoned at his naming-rite, anointing his forehead with the sacred oil. At most naming-rites, the priest would then trace the child's name into the earth and the parents would wash it away with water. But as Alfred was a nobleman's son, his name was carved with chisel and mallet into a great marble slab - the stone of House Bonnefoy, with names of illustrious ancestors preserved for eternity on its surface.

Francis, beaming with pride (for himself, mostly - what a virile man he was! But Alice had done well too, he supposed) stepped forward with rare wine and poured it over the new-carved letters, inwardly mourning the fine vintage that no one would get to taste, but understanding the need. 

  
Baby Alfred, safe in his nanny's arms, yawned hugely and fell asleep.   
  
In the back of the temple, crowded in among his fellow servants - most of whom were agitating for the feast to follow, where even the lowliest of the villagers would get to stuff themselves- Gilbert watched, his eyes gleaming with amused satisfaction.  
  
***   
  
As was usual with the noble class, Alice and Francis had very little to do with Alfred's care. Baby Alfred had his own set of rooms, almost as large as his brother Matthew's but not located so centrally or so near to Francis and Alice's master suites. Which suited Gilbert fine - Alfred was closer to the servants' wing, and it was easier for Gilbert to visit his son.  
  
For his son Alfred was - Gilbert was sure of it. The blond hair and blue eyes were, if one looked quite close, not quite the same as the Bonnefoy standards. The gold was a little paler, the blue a little darker - the exact colors, in fact, as the eyes and hair of Gilbert's younger brother Ludwig. Little Alfred definitely had some Beilschmidt blood in him. And if people proclaimed that he had a Bonnefoy nose, or a Bonnefoy chin, well, that wasn't surprising either. Gilbert's eyes flashed a bit when he thought of why.   


 _This_ little Beilschmidt was going to enjoy all the benefits of being a Bonnefoy. Gilbert snickered as he looked around the nursery, gloating over the rich and luxuriant materials abounding. As a second-born son, Alfred was bound for a life in the army - a life Gilbert had once yearned for. But unless you had rich parents to buy you a commission, being a soldier was a ticket to years of suffering and an early grave. So Gilbert had shelved his dreams of heroics and soldierly success. But now his son would be an officer, and Gilbert would make sure he was the best damn officer the army had ever seen. 

 

***   
  
Immediately after Alfred's naming rite, Francis departed for the capital. Alice watched him and his convoy leave from her tower-room. She knew he was leaving to see his mistresses - he had five which she knew of, none of whom knew about each other and only three of whom knew about his wife - and she felt a pang of annoyance. Not that she minded his extramarital sexual escapades - she knew he was scrupulous about keeping cleanly and never feared catching something from him, and she certainly didn't care about his exclusivity. He was a good lover but she preferred Gilbert's rough passion to Francis's practiced smoothness.

But she found it annoying that his affairs only got him leering accolades from his peers, whereas _she_ had to keep her own trysts silent and secret.   
  
No matter. She dismissed the pangs of annoyance as she turned from the window. The world was what it was - he was what he was, a rich and privileged lord - and she was what she was, wife and lover and witch.   
  
She'd cast the same spells, made the same ointments, as when she'd had Matthew. Already her body was completely recovered from the ordeal of childbirth. And she wanted Gilbert to fill her newly-healed entrance with his manhood. So she twitched her fingers and muttered a word of power, heading to the bed as magic sparkled briefly over her hands.   
  
  
***   
  
In Alfred's room, Gilbert raised his head suddenly, feeling the glyphs carved invisibly onto his tongue start to tingle. Alice was calling for him. Long experience had taught him what such a summons usually meant, and he could feel himself growing aroused. He cast one last, surprisingly tender look at the baby slumbering in his crib before he slipped silently out of the nursery, trotting purposefully for the tower.   
  
  
Yes, Gilbert thought as he neared Alice's bedchambers, his erection a visible bulge in his breeches, life was good.   


***   
  
Years later, as he watched Alfred returning home on a prancing white horse, Gilbert nodded and repeated his thought. Life had been _very_ good. Life was _still_ good. He grinned, a curving slash of white teeth and lips that was the mirror-image of the grin currently on Alfred's face as he waved cheerfully to the adoring throng, who had crowded the roadside leading to Castle Bonnefoy in order to see the famous war-hero. And if all Gilbert's plans continued to their triumphant conclusion, life would be _excellent_ for his son and all future little Beilschmidt descendants.   
  
*** 

 

fin


End file.
